David Berman of the Silver Jews- Grabbing them by the Pussy


Although I wasn’t familiar with his music, I read about David Berman in a UVA alumni magazine & a friend of mine told me that he was famous & living in Nashville, so I thought that was cool and invited him to play a show with me.

He showed up with a little posse and a smoke machine, since- rather than singing- he wanted to recite poetry with smoke blowing behind him. I remember feeling sorry for him, standing on the stage with smoke blowing behind him, as though the need of a smoke machine made him pathetic somehow.

It is usually a bad sign when I feel sorry for someone. Clinton, Weiner, Epstein, Weinstein- most sexual predators trigger pangs of pity in me and I don’t even know why. Crossed wires, probably.

And then of course, feeling pity for a man makes me feel guilty, since I imagine men don’t want to be seen as pitiful, which causes me to twist my mind into a state of deep admiration, just in case they can sense my thoughts. I always feel responsible for boosting men’s self-esteem as though they are little boys and I am their nanny. If they look stupid, I feel pain.

Anyway, after the show he walked up to me where I was sitting on a stool and stuck his hand up my skirt real fast and grabbed me on the flesh at which point animal consciousness took over and I started kicking him. There were at least six people watching, but maybe more.

I don’t remember what happened after that except that one of his posse was trying to calm me down and make sure I didn’t call the cops since, as he said, Berman had a beautiful wife at home and this would break her heart etc etc. Berman too was a troubled man with a heart of gold and they would make sure to straighten him out. He also said what Berman did was really really bad which was useful information for me since on my own I might not have figured it out. After all, my husband was one of the people watching and I don’t recall him saying anything about the incident or being particularly concerned.

(Which, in retrospect, makes sense considering that he got me to marry him by grabbing my crotch as we were zooming down the highway on the way to what I thought was a spiritual retreat. Then he said I needed to marry him because sexual contact outside of marriage was wrong.)

All in all, the Berman incident didn’t loom large in my mind. If it hadn’t been for the posse member talking me into not calling the cops (which I wouldn’t have done anyway, considering that I had a supernatural fear of police plus no concept that forcing hands into privates was a crime) I might not even remember it. It just seemed to blend into the general spirit of the time. I even sent Berman a Christmas card afterwards. How embarrassing.

But for some reason, a few days ago, I was telling my current husband about it, and he wanted to beat Berman up, so I googled him and found that he had hanged himself a couple weeks prior. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it all. My husband said he wouldn’t be surprised if someone had offed him.

And then I was reading the articles about his poetry & music which all seemed to agree that above all, David Berman was a symbol of goodness and decency. Maybe he was, who knows? Goodness & decency have always creeped me out.

*

P.S. Though I always considered this incident to be quite minor, with no impact, in some respect it (along with other incidents) maybe did have the stereotypical impact on me.

I assumed I was basically asking for these things, considering I was wearing a skirt and also a lace camisole on top of my polo shirt. So I reconsidered my clothing choices.

I assumed I was pretty much asking for it by singing songs about mating with rabbits and making love to plants and fathers. So I tried to tone down the sexual content of my songs which (as a Scorpio) just meant writing less in general.

I assumed I was pretty much asking for it by hanging out in slimy bars at night. So, it *possibly* played a role in my decision to stop performing.

I assumed I was pretty much asking for it by interacting with males so much in general, although that couldn’t be helped since they made up the bulk of the music world. For a long time, I tried to avoid interacting with males at all to avoid giving the impression that I was a pervert.

But I don’t know. I am just thinking about this now for the first time. For some reason I never really thought about it until I found out he was dead.

Sexual Fantasies- Messages from Another World

Sexual desires & fantasies share the symbolic language of dreams. They are chock full of information, but not usually to be taken literally. I divide them into two main categories:

1. Generative Fantasies. Generative Fantasies lead you *towards* something that is supposed in your life. The most obvious example is feeling lust towards the person you are meant to marry.

Other sorts of Generative Fantasies:

  • Decoys. A Decoy is an object of desire designed to lead you into another world. Perhaps you lust after a person who lives in another country and this compels you to travel there. Perhaps they are part of a club or social circle you are meant to join and they draw you towards it like a magnet. Maybe they live in a fantasy world that you are also meant to inhabit. In any case, once the decoy successfully draws you into this new world, your attraction to them should cease.
  • Mirrors: A Mirror reflects a piece of yourself or your destiny that you need to pick up. Perhaps they are rich and pompous and you are meant to become that way. Perhaps they are a professional clown and you are meant to be one too. Once a person internalizes the relevant aspects of the Mirror, the magnetic pull of the individual should cease.

2. Degenerative Fantasies: Degenerative Fantasies are based on wounds from the distant or recent past.  They have a compulsive quality and can be destructive to pursue, since they lead straight into the darkness one is trying to escape. In general, they are designed to release negative feelings like shame, anger, fear, sadness, humiliation, weakness, dirtiness etc. Degenerative Fantasies can be triggered by current events that peel the skin from old wounds.

The key to navigating these fantasies is recognizing that they do not reflect a desire, but rather an anti-desire. They are a desperate urge to release an inner demon. If examined carefully, a person will find that the stimulating aspect of these fantasies is an exact replica of the feeling or trauma they are trying to release- though possibly in a symbolic form. Once a person gets to the bottom of this message, the desires should release.

*

And then of course, there is regular sexuality based on reality and not fantasy, but I would feel like a pervert discussing that.

All I really want to convey is that sexual desires & fantasies are no product of biology, but rather messages from the spirit world (in the case of generative fantasies) or (in the case of degenerative fantasies) messages from the subconscious.



 

Checkerboard of Night

Following your footprints through the checkerboard of night
Guided like a lantern by the moon’s uncertain light
Oh I…. an animal that bleeds for you
Oh I… a spirit of the air.

Once I crossed the checkerboard to find a golden ring
Hidden like a promise in the pocket of a king
To the line where only pines remain
All the men afraid to kill had dropped out of the game.

First a flame appeared upon the ocean
Then a message flashed upon the wall
Please don’t tell me nothing has been broken
That’s just to say it was never there at all.

Walking through the dark world where the moon still rules the sky
Everything I wanted came & then left me behind
Oh I… a spirit seeking blood from you
Oh I… a spirit of the air.

Shadow of a sword appears within a silver creek
Could it be a knight and not another king I seek?
Someone who can bring the blood from everywhere
Spreading it like glory through my hair.

First a flame appears upon the ocean
Then a message flashed upon the wall
Please don’t tell me nothing has been broken
That’s just to say it was never there at all.

You were strong & wealthy & your made me feel alive
Everyone was made to kneel; I never had to hide
Oh I… an animal that lived with in your shoe
All the golden dreams I had they came from you.

First a silver light falls on the ocean
Silver men line up against the wall
Please don’t tell me nothing has been broken
That’s just to say it was never there at all.

Fog, Obsessions & Magic

Every time I write a song I go through a predictable process.

First, there are days of anxiety where I wait for the right moment to ask James for help with recording & uploading. Due to his odd hours & catastrophic stress levels, days or weeks may pass before I get up the nerve to ask him.  He likes to help me, of course, but I still feel guilty asking for his time when he is always run ragged & juggling grenades.

(The past 2 years he has mostly been in the cryptocurrency field. If you like trading cryptocurrencies, visit his site: www.whalewarz.com)

Eventually, I get the song posted. Then I enter a fog. Who am I? What am I doing with my life? Within a day or two, the fog leads to a new obsession that I am sure will be the answer to everything. The obsession lasts for a few days or maybe weeks. Then I enter another fog. What the hell have I been doing? Sometimes I can hardly remember. Why did I paint everything green? What was I hoping to accomplish?

At this point, I return to being my regular self, tail between my legs. The self who doesn’t need to control the universe, but just wants to collect pink things & scented soaps. Maybe write an occasional song.

I am going through that second fog right now- where the obsession lifts and I wonder what I have been doing. This last obsession was with reading books on magic written prior to the 1700s. And while it was somewhat interesting, eventually the patterns of the books began to clash with the patterns of my brain until I just didn’t feel like myself anymore.

The books were what I would call “occult.” Which (to me) means harnessing spiritual powers to create change on earth. The occult has masculine, religious overtones that don’t sit right in my stomach. Fathers, hierarchies, magic squares, solemnity & robes- these are the things that belong to men.

Then there is witchcraft, of course, but I am not womanly enough for that. Long flowing dresses, pools of naked women, bubbling cauldrons, turning men into frogs- witchcraft is only for earth mothers or lesbian teenagers.

Luckily, I believe that between the higher world of celestial magic and the lower* world of earth powers, there is a third world where magic resides. A world so ordinary it does not appear magical at all. Maybe I will tell you about it sometime. But right now I have to cook dinner. I hope all is well in your secret existence.

A shopping spree from when I thought orange was the answer to everything. (But still could not help picking up some browns, since I have this obsession with brown despite the two of us having nothing in common.)

A shopping spree from when I thought green was the answer to everything. But, once again, I could not resist grabbing a few brown bowls as well due to the funny feeling they give me.

Threes

Hold me by the wrist.
Hold me to the ground.
Watch the world it flies
Spinning round and round.

Tell me what you know.
Tell me everything.
Pressed into a box.
Pressed into a ring.

See clouds that fly.
See them flying free.
That third one is I-
Do you recognize me now?

Their reflections fly
Flowing down the stream
Round my ankles I
Need you to release me now.

In the mirror there,
I saw you again
Like a foggy man
Close behind me then

Pressing into me
Your two hands were tied.
We’re in this world now
Like the square it binds.

Catch a bird that flies
Slice him into three.
Like a man he dies-
Do you understand me now?

Capture any bird
Capture anything
The relentless claw-
Do you understand me now?

When I heard your words
They were only sounds
Tying up my brain
Filling it with brown.

And my heart was tied
Like an animal too.
Our words weren’t the same
How could I explain to you?

Something isn’t right.
Something spinning wrong.
Shapes are scratching now.
Not where I belong.

Every cloud that flies
Breaking up in threes
Meaning something dies
Do you recognize me now?

DownloadMP3: Threes